


it wasn’t my intention (i’m sorry to myself)

by 1sleepydormouse (AlderBee), AlderBee



Series: saturnine [2]
Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, F/M, NaNoWriMo, Recovery, Whump, happy-ish ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 00:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16821802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlderBee/pseuds/1sleepydormouse, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlderBee/pseuds/AlderBee
Summary: Just one hit cleared his mind enough to finish what he needed, go back to his dorm and grab a few hours of actual sleep.Once a week seemed like just enough.Then, a few more times a week.Then, daily.And soon . . . it was more than that.





	it wasn’t my intention (i’m sorry to myself)

This was the peak of the roller coaster ride. He was always warned that it was coming. He always thought he was prepared for it. Always hoped that it was the  _ last damn time _ that he was taking this ride.

It never was the last time.

Maybe this was another lie to himself.

Another lie to her.

Clothes thick and stale with sweat and exhaustion, Jughead sat hunched on the toilet seat, hands wound tightly through his dark hair while he grit his teeth through another bout of shakes. He had the bathroom radiator set to high, anything to smother the cold that seemed to endlessly grip at his bones and cut deep into his skin. Skating this sharp line was the hardest every single time he started to dry out.

All of his senses revved into overdrive to the point that the air would make his skin pebble with goosebumps despite the sweat slicking between his pits and down the back of his neck. Socks were miserable, and the shaggy texture of the bathroom mat under his feet didn’t bring any kind of comfort. He tried to focus, imagining the scrape of the mat under the pads of his feet. He curled each toe rhythmically, starting with the biggest and ending with the smallest, gripping at the shag before letting it go.

_ When your body is burning itself from the inside, it sometimes helps to introduce external stimuli to distract yourself. _

Jughead could not remember it helping much last time. But when he woke up from an afternoon nap with his tongue buzzing in his mouth and his body shaking on its own, he made a beeline to his boombox, an ancient thing he got for a dollar at the local Salvation Army, and hit play.

_ To never again, allow this to happen _

_ Where do I begin? _

_ The choices are endless _

_ Denying the sin _

The vocals and heavy rock of the half completed song stormed through the room like thunder. Jughead had twisted the volume until the room almost shook, squeezing his eyes and forcing himself to mumble along to the lyrics.

Then his clothes distracted him, immediately prompting him to shed his hoodie and socks and hat as he stumbled into the bathroom. Tossing his hoodie over the toothpaste flecked mirror over the sink, he turned on the cold tap, the water pressure hissing against the white ceramic. His fingers immediately felt painfully,  _ blissfully _ numb as he scooped up a handful of water to splash onto his face.

As the water ran freezing lines down his neck and chest, Jughead tried to remember if he was supposed to be cooling himself down or warming himself up.

Why couldn’t he remember?

Why wasn’t his brain focusing?

Leaving the water running, Jughead stumbled back before barely catching himself on the toilet seat lid, sitting down and feeling his weight nearly fold him in half.

Draiman continued to drone along with the sharp melodies beyond the doorway, and any other time, Jughead would be able to let himself drown in the song. But he couldn’t even connect the words and sounds to any sort of meaning. 

Jughead willed his brain to work. Willed the synapses to fire in the right order to the right cells so that things could make sense again. So that he could regain control of his body again.

So he could be himself again.

His fingers pulled tighter against his scalp, pulling strands taught.

He wanted to be  _ himself _ again.

=====================

It was a slippery slope once the stars aligned. The perfect train wreck of events, circumstances, and overworked psyche. 

Jughead had been accepted into his first choice college. His friends and family were so proud of him. They expected great things.

Jughead expected great things.

And things were great.

He thrived under the unique challenges of double-majoring in journalism and musical theory. Lunch room and coffee chats revolved around discussing the Renaissance and Baroque periods as opposed to video games and and the ranking of “sexy cheerleaders.” He had the perfect academic schedule with his first class scheduled at 11 a.m. and the last one ending at 5. His meal plan consisted of all-you-could eat breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. His friends were no more than a 3 hour drive away. Betty visited him every other weekend, and he visited her on the others. School projects forced him to think beyond himself, beyond Riverdale, beyond the country, beyond the oceans.

The world was large and welcoming, and it encouraged his exploration. Encouraged him to share his opinions and interests.

Sure, transitioning from high school to college was rough. All of the upperclassmen and professors and academic advisers warned him of that. There was so many things to be interested in, which was a huge change from high school where his interests were few but intense. It was a problem, but not a bad problem to have.

Suddenly, Jughead had passions and his friends were . . . no longer immediately available to talk about them. Betty did her best, and Jughead loved her for it. He loved her so much. 

She listened to every word, asked the best questions, and seemed to glow with their every interaction. But, Jughead could see that she was experiencing the very same things. New passions and an overwhelming amount of good opportunities. 

Clinging too much to her would run them both ragged. They would be exhausted.

And Jughead loved her too much.

Betty always reminded him to rest and reserve his strength. Visits consisted of the two of them curled up in bed, just breathing each other’s space while NPR played low in the background.

And that used to be enough.

It was just bad timing.

Isn’t it always?

Midterms, finals, projects with impossible deadlines. Stressful, of course, but not something that Jughead thought that he could handle. And he could. He was doing fine.

He just was not prepared to call home one day to find out that his parents were separating. His mother talking sharp words of anger and hate and spite while his father’s anger thundered quietly in the background. Jughead could imagine Jellybean’s quiet movements just beyond, staying clear of the venom, and maybe getting poisoned slowly by it. Was she lonely? Was she scared? How was she handling it all without her big brother there to keep her company?

There were days when his parents would call him separately, whispering harsh words against the one they called husband or wife. Pitting their son against the other in a duel to prove that one was more righteous than the other.

Jughead thought about how his friends were the same. So many instances in elementary school, middle school, and high school when his friends would fight and divide their group among them. Jughead had never fallen to that bullshit. Even then, he knew it was wrong and that in the end everyone would resolve it on their own. His friends were stupid, but they were good.

He couldn’t maintain his distance from this. Not when it was his mom and his dad. Not when it was Jellybean.

Jughead didn’t tell anyone about his new position as mediator between his warring parents. It just became another part of his life: student, mentor, journalism club, part-time barista, best friend to Archie Andrews, boyfriend to Betty Cooper, an ineffective marriage counselor, and support system for Jellybean. He thought he could handle it.

Jughead could handle anything. He could handle this.

His sleep was affected first.

Nights brought a wave of exhaustion, and as he lay in bed, his blood-shot eyes would remain at half-mast, staring at the popcorn ceiling while his brain ran and ran and ran.

Then, came the itchy skin. Jughead remembered a passing Wikipedia article from a late-night online binge from his high school years. Sometimes anxiety manifested itself into physical ticks. Picking at skin, popping joints, scratching at skin, increased appetite, or loss of appetite. None of the lotions Jughead tried seemed to work, and he would lie in bed  _ exhausted _ while scratching at his buzzing shins.

Betty would look at him worriedly, but didn’t judge. Kissing at the scratches before soaking him in a bath of oatmeal and lavender.

His attention was stretched in so many ways that he started losing contact with friends. Soon, only a few of those from Riverdale received emails or phone calls from him.

Then, his grades. When Jughead’s grades began to slip, that was the last straw.

He forced himself to leave his phone at the bottom of his hamper. Scooped up his notebooks and texts and sequestered himself in the university library. This was not going to suffer. He had worked to hard to get this far. His grades  _ had _ to be good.

In retrospect-when Jughead was able to manage a few minutes of clear thinking-he blamed the exhaustion for his impaired judgement. A student intern working at the table nearby had taken one look at him. Saw the anxiety, the growing depression, the lack of sleep, and the desperation to stop drowning.

_ Hey, man. You all right? I have exactly what you need. Trust me. It works. _

Desperation and stupidity.

Two words that would never be applied to high school Jughead.

Two words that encompassed Jughead now.

The immediate relief from a brain stuffed full of anxiety made that first hit  _ so worth it _ .

He remembered nearly sobbing from the respite. Just one hit cleared his mind enough to finish what he needed, go back to his dorm and grab a few hours of actual sleep.

Once a week seemed like just enough.

Then, a few more times a week.

Then, daily.

And soon . . . it was more than that.

Before Jughead knew it, he was so relaxed and anxiety free, that all of the things that mattered no longer mattered any more. Missing classes. Missing phone calls and texts. Missing Betty. Missing Archie. Missing Jellybean.

Something had gone wrong.

Jughead remembered sobbing, leaking pain from his eyes and nose and drooling in sorrow, as he threw is stash in the sink and ran the faucet. He remembered the onset of panic as he pulled out his phone and tapped at the screen. He remembered everything quieting as her voice filled his head, whispering words of comfort and understanding and equal measures of sorrow.

Betty came.

She arrived just in time to catch Jughead desperately reaching into the kitchen sink.

Betty came. And, she stayed.

============================

Jughead didn’t snap back to attention until he heard the white nose of the running faucet stop. His body unconsciously stopped shivering for just a moment as he froze, eyes going wild. 

Nothing in the room moved, not even him, as he took in his surroundings, molasses slow. 

The music in the living room was off, deafening in its absence. The skin, tight at the crown of his scalp and around his temples ached, fingers cramping as they slowly released the death grip on his hair. In place of the silence was the speeding staccato of his breaths, wheezing and painful in the center of his chest.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jughead tried to think. Tried to put all of the clues together. Tried to determine how safe he was.

Just a hint, a whisper of soft vanilla. Comforting and delicate in its presence.

And just like that, Jughead felt himself unclench. Letting his head hang heavily from his neck as he curled further in, so exhausted suddenly.

So exhausted.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he opened his eyes, blinking the sweat and tears away, and just barely seeing the blurry vision of Betty just beyond reach. She was holding herself nearly still, any movements slow and clear as if she was afraid to scare him into lashing out.

_ It was just once. Only once. _

Jughead hated it. Hated when she moved like he was going to break at a moments notice.

“Stop that.” His voice scraped out of his throat, a snarl of irritation and exhaustion.

Betty didn’t seem to react, keeping her movements steady as she slowly wrung out the clean washcloth in her hands. “Stop what, Juggie?”

Jughead immediately felt ashamed, regretting his harsh words. Regretting a lot. The sob that corked his lungs felt more painful than all of his withdrawal symptoms combined.

He was so  _ fucking tired _ .

“N-nothing. Nothing. I’m, I am so sorry. Sorry.” Jughead stuttered. 

He wanted to disappear.

Watching her boyfriend collapse into himself, Betty felt her heart break. Sliding down to her knees, she gently placed the warm towel on the back of Jughead’s neck and tucked his forehead tight against her neck.

The wiry muscles, wasted away from neglect and drug use trembled against her body and Betty wanted nothing more than to hide him from everything. To crack a hole into her own chest and hide him away until he was fully recovered and whole and ready to face the world again.

Betty knew it was a bad day the minute she parked her car by the apartment building. The windows of the apartment had vibrated visibly from three stories below. She once again felt fortunate that her neighbors understood her situation. Her boyfriend--no-- _ partner,  _ was suffering from withdrawals and they were working on getting him better. 

The night before, the two of them had discussed starting the weaning process over the weekend, when Betty was free of any responsibilities and could stay home with him.

In true Jughead fashion, it looked like he was eager to get started earlier than planned. No doubt, hoping to get through the worst of it before Betty had to see.

The thought, the truth of it, broke Betty’s heart.

Jughead was not a destructive individual. Betty had read books and medical articles detailing the process of detoxing and recovering from abusive drug habits. Some reacted violently outwards: destroying property, physically assaulting those close by, biting and punching a themselves, and lashing out in uncontrollable anger. 

True to form, Jughead suffered a quiet, internal carnage. It was almost terrifying to see, watching him literally shut down and fold into himself like a black hole. Jughead did not like to show weakness. If he suffered, he wanted to hide away and get through it on his own. He had been trying.

Until it was getting worse.

Betty had determinedly shouldered her backpack of newly purchased Gatorade, bandages, icy-hot patches, and granola bars. Racing up the stairs, she had quickly made way into her spotless apartment. Once she had turned off the music, her ears took her into the bathroom where Jughead was hiding, staring a hole into the bathroom mat.

This was Jughead at his worst. The result of a hero, a good son, a good brother, a  _ good man _ broken from too many tragic circumstances. Broken from trying to protect others over himself.

Betty loved him so much. Underneath the sweat, anxiety, and body-wracking shivers was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. They could get through this.

They would.

Jughead’s arms slowly came up, cradling Betty with grasping, bony arms, like he wanted to pull her tightly to him, but feared bruising her. “Betty.”

“I have you, Juggie,” she whispered, feeling every bone of his spine and ribs as she held him closer. “You still cold?”

“I can’t, I can’t get warm. And, and it’s too hot.” A shiver punctuated the statement.

“We can fix that,” Betty assured him, scratching the tips of her fingers against the base of his skull. His hair was sweat slicked and cold. “How about a nice bath? I can reheat some soup and we’ll cuddle on the couch.”

Jughead nodded against her, grateful to let her take the lead.

Betty kept up a steady stream of conversation as she helped Jughead strip. She filled the bathtub with warm steaming water, adding Epsom salts and lavender to the bath before easing him in. Opposed to the vacant emptiness from before, Jughead’s silence was colored in stark relief, eyes silently tracking all of Betty’s movements like he couldn’t quite believe she was there.

Betty imagined a happier picture transposed over them in her mind. A future, not so distant, where Betty bathed a healthier Jughead, the two of them laughing, shameless with their touches and kisses. His smiles would be reminiscent of their teenage years: small, shy, and powerful. Days like this would be a thing of the past.

Dealing with the addiction would never truly go away, but Betty treasured the thought of the two of them facing it together, both strong and solid in their love for each other.

Shivers wracked Jughead’s body in random spurts, and they clenched each others hands through each one, keeping steady.

Betty kissed the wrinkling skin of his fingertips, inhaling soothing lavender.

For the first time that night, Jughead smiled, blushing just a little bit.

They would be ok.

Jughead would be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Whump prompt, drug addiction. This could feed off of the Riverdale verse, but is essentially an AU. Title of the fic was pulled from Demi Lovato’s “Sober.” The song Jughead listens to in the fic is “I’m Alive” by Disturbed (which is about recovering from drug addiction). I don’t think I’ll ever NOT associate these two with a song when I write! XP


End file.
